


Window Dressing

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Community: spnkink_meme, M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's family doesn't have much money, so a trip to the big department store downtown is a special treat. Until he finds out that he's the merchandise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Window Dressing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at spnkink-meme.

When his parents tell him they're going downtown to Fowlers Saturday morning, the largest and fanciest department store in the city, Jared is surprised but excited.

He’s listened to other boys he goes to school with—boys with more money—gripe and moan over the years about how much they hate it when their moms drag them along shopping, when all they want to do is play games on their tabs or go to the park.

But Jared's family doesn't come from that kind of money. The Padaleckis live on the farthest corner of the wealthy school district, where the ancient two-bedroom houses are held together with spit and a prayer.

Jared’s hoping maybe his dad’s bonus came through and he’ll be able to get a pair of jeans that aren’t hand-me-downs from his older brother. Or maybe a new jacket like the other guys on the swim team are wearing these days.

That’d be so sweet.

He’s so busy thinking about these things that he doesn’t really notice his mom, sniffling quietly and trying to hide her red-rimmed eyes. Doesn’t notice the way his father is clutching the steering wheel of their old car. He doesn’t think about those things until later, when he’s going through the new slave inspection and his parents are just taillights driving off in the fog.

 

_Jared, we have to tell you something,_ his mom says as they steer him past the escalators that lead up to the Menswear department. He looks at her then, sees how distressed she is, and feels the first tendrils of uncertainty wind around his heart.

She doesn’t say anything though, she just starts crying.

Then he realizes they’re steering him towards the Body Department, and his knees lock up in terror, he can't move.

"No," he whispers, looking from his mom to his dad. "Please no, I'll be better, I promise," but his whispered pleas are ignored. His intestines feel liquid with fear and he shakes his head back and forth.

His dad grips his wrist tight, not to hurt him but in a last desperate request for forgiveness, maybe, or to make Jared understand. "The Bank was very firm, it's you or your sister," his dad says, voice hollow. "And buyers think boys have more uses than girls. You might get work on a farm somewhere..."

His dad trails off, but Jared hears what he leaves unsaid. Jared might get work on a farm somewhere, but his sister would surely end up a bed slave.

His dad gives his wrist one last squeeze and then all the Padaleckis fall silent until Judy, the Body Dept. Merchandise Appraiser, comes to whisk him away to a separate room. Jared looks over his shoulder as he’s led away, trying to take strength from the presence of his parents one last time.

He’s led to something much like an interrogation room, given a thick sheaf of papers, and told sternly that he’s to answer the questionnaire with absolute honesty.

"We could still take your sister if you lie to us, Jared," Judy says and Jared looks at her with huge fearful eyes as he nods his understanding.

_Have you ever..._

_Has anybody ever..._

_How do you feel about..._

It's only later, after he's steered towards the virgin pen, that he realizes how stupid he was for telling the truth, but by that time it's too late.

 

"All right Jared, you’re up next,” says Richard, the chatty window dresser that Fowlers employs to make all the slaves look their best before the store opens each morning.

Jared tries to shrink away from him but the glass cage is too small.

“None of that, pet,” Richard said cheerfully, tugging at Jared’s leash until he’s been unceremoniously hauled onto the floor. “Don’t you want me to make you look pretty so we can find you a nice new home?”

Jared's not convinced that anybody can make him look pretty, let alone Richard, who wears his blonde hair in a ridiculous mullet/pompadour that's years out of date, but he doesn't have much choice but to follow the chipper man out of his cage and into the grooming area.

Richard talks to the slaves like they’re pets, and even though he's gentle as he soaps Jared and washes his hair and rubs him all over with oil and finds the “perfect way to dress the front window” each day, Jared pretty much loathes him.

At least he’d been allowed to keep his hair. He didn’t consider himself vain but when he’d seen a couple of the other male virgins shorn till their heads gleamed, he had expected the same treatment.

Richard had studied him thoughtfully though, clippers buzzing in his hand, and then shook his head, instead dabbing something in Jared’s hair that made it look windblown. Jared thought he looked silly, but Richard said that his sleepy eyes and mussed hair would be a selling point, making him look ‘freshly fucked,’ a phrase that caused goose bumps to break out all over Jared’s bare flesh.

It would not be long before Richard’s assessment became truth, after all.

He has to fight back the urge to cry as he is once again placed up front with a handful of other slaves, all certified virgins. The talk in the virgin pen is desultory. Everybody’s story is roughly the same: Bank foreclosures and certain ruin unless a child was sold. They each had been pawed and leered at by pervy Dr. Roche during their slave physical and “certification” process.

Richard sings quietly to himself as he affixes their cuffs and poses them for the day, males in one window and females in the other, their scant black undergarments concealing little to the disinterested eyes of the early morning passersby on their way to work.

 

 

Jensen wakes up well before dawn, positively vibrating with excitement. After a full year of “keeping his nose clean,” as his mom put it, and some pretty spectacular displays of pleading and begging, _and_ getting straight As his first year at university, his folks _finally_ decided he was mature enough to take care of his own slave.

“Big day, eh Jensen?” his father says as he scrolls through his tab to look at the business news.

“Yes sir!” Jensen says with enthusiasm as he pours himself a bowl of cereal. “Are we going to Fowlers or Stewarts?”

“Well, now, I think that’s your decision,” Aaron says as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Jensen thinks about it. “Let’s start with Stewarts. They usually have a better selection, according to my research. But we should check out Fowlers too, they have cooler displays.”

His father beams at him and Jensen feels proud all over again. He can’t wait to show off his new slave to the guys in the house when he gets back to school. He’ll have his very own slave to keep him warm at night, and he’s going to be an awesome master, loving but firm, like the guy on that _Slave Whisperer_ show. He can’t wait.

 

 

Richard has decorated the main display window to look like an office today, where some crazy-ass party is apparently underway because there are papers scattered everywhere and artfully arranged champagne bottles and glasses strewn about.

That most of the slaves on display are between the ages of 14 and 17 and have never stepped foot in an office does not detract from Richard’s “vision.”

“Seriously?” Jared mutters as Richard pushes on his neck so he’s bent over a desk, ass in the air. His arms are bound behind his back, wrists to elbow, and Richard presses a riding crop into his hands before moving on to the next slave.

“I hear he’s got an order of angel wings coming in next week,” whispers Eric, a blond who’d been brought in two days earlier. Eric is sprawled in a leather office chair beside Jared, legs spread obscenely over each of the chair arms, and his wrists cuffed behind his neck. “Not sure if it’d be better to get sold off by then or not.”

Jared watches the street from his strange sideways view, Eric reflected faintly in the sparkling clean window glass. There is no _better,_ Jared figured that out already. Just varying degrees of worse.

Matt, who’s positioned in the corner leaning against a water cooler, has a better view of the streets than the rest of them, and he’s the one to hiss ‘buyer’ when two men stepped up to appraise the slaves for sale rather than hurrying on by with a longing backwards glance.

Jared’s heart speeds up.

Not even two feet away, separated only by a sheet of glass, stands a young guy, maybe not even 20. His eyes are narrow, thoughtful, and Jared can see him reading the stupid card resting in front of Jared’s left foot:

**Hi! I’m Jared! I like to run and swim.  
** **I’m 15 and already 6’0 tall!  
** **Won’t you take me home to play?  
** **(Riding crop sold separately)**

The guy turns to the older man with him and starts talking, gesturing to Jared.

“Guys?” Jared breaths, trying not to move his lips as he’d been instructed. He’s terrified.

“He’s pretty at least,” Eric whispers.

“I heard the pretty ones are the meanest,” says another slave resting on the other side of the desk where Jared can’t see him.

“Shut up, _ass_ ,” Eric hisses.

Jared is pretty sure he’s going to pass out when Richard enters the display a minute later to put up the window screen so he can rearrange his tableau in privacy. He doesn’t though, and he doesn’t pass out when Dr. Roche leads him away to the inspection chambers, and he doesn’t pass out when his store collar is removed and replaced with a more stylish collar chosen by his new owner. He does feel kind of floaty though, and unless he’s given a direct order to follow his mind starts blanketing him from what’s going on around him.

 

 

Jensen has a good feeling about Jared. Stewarts had been a complete bust; all the available virgins had been too young or too female to catch Jensen’s eye. But this kid looked awesome laid out over the desk, long and firm, wide pink lips that will look amazing wrapped around Jensen’s cock. Jensen’s already imagining re-creating that pretty picture in his father’s home office if his parents go away for the weekend like they’ve been considering.

His father is in the other room talking with the staff doctor, examining Jared’s paperwork, but everybody knows Fowlers sells quality product and it’s just a formality. His dad loves to negotiate and is already trying to shave off some of the asking price because Jared’s card says he’s 15 but his birthday is in a couple of weeks. The merchandise appraiser coolly countered that Jared’s orthodontia had been completed the year before, so they were guaranteed the slave’s features would not change much as he aged, with no additional financial output required of the Ackles.

Jensen lets his father hammer out the details while he inspects his new slave. Jared stands in the center of the room, his short leash attached to a hook on the ceiling.

“Ever had your own slave, son?” asks Chris, one of the trainers.

Jensen peers into Jared’s eyes and then lifts Jared’s chin, admiring how the slave’s long neck is complimented by the sturdy Fowlers collar. “We have some slaves that work around the house, but they aren’t mine.”

“Well, hopefully Jared here won’t give you much trouble but we don’t put them through any training before they’re sold, you know, some owners prefer to do things their own way. We have obedience classes here but generally, you just need to make sure they know who’s boss and they’ll be good.”

“Thanks Chris, I’ll remember that.” Jensen pulls down Jared’s shorts and strokes the smooth buttocks, smiling a little at how that causes Jared to flinch.

“He’s shaking,” Jensen says, but Chris assures him that’s common among first time slaves, particularly virgins.

“They’re skittish as colts, least in the beginning,” Chris says. “Just be firm but fair and you’ll bring him to heel in no time.”

Chris hands him his business card, and tells Jensen he’s available for in-house training as well if it seems necessary. They walk around the inspection room, which is lushly appointed and features display shelves of “add-ons” that Jensen might want. After selecting a more personal collar and leash, matching wrist and ankle cuffs, and a bit gag – “better for long-term gagging, fewer headaches and such”— Jensen is pretty much set.

In the other room Aaron is handing over his gold card and Jensen smiles. It’s official. Jared is his.

“Can we go home?” Jensen asks his dad as they leave the Body Department.

Aaron smiles indulgently. “I know you’re eager Jensen, but I need to stop by housewares and pick up something for your mom’s birthday. And _you_ need to get your new boy some things, I imagine.”

Jensen sighs but he follows his dad through the department store and up three escalators, keeping a firm grip on Jared’s leash. His dad’s right, as usual. He can’t keep his new slave in underwear all the time, tempting as the thought might be. Plus Jared will need his own toothbrush, and shoes, and a jacket… It wouldn’t do to be so excited about his new boy that he forgot he’d promised to take good care of him. His parents have a week, after all, to change their mind and return Jared if Jensen doesn’t prove himself a responsible owner. Making a mental list, Jensen leads his new slave away, calling after his father that they’ll meet up in an hour.

 

 

Jared follows Jensen around the large store as Jensen picks things out for him to try on. He remembers how just a few days ago he’d thought he’d be buying clothes—nothing too fancy, just something new, all for him—and then returning home that night to have supper with his family.

What an idiot he’d been.

Each time he tries on a pair of pants or a shirt he looks at his new master hopefully, but Master Jensen always tells him to remove the clothing so Jared has to continue walking around in his tight black undershorts. It’s humiliating, but then, Jared supposes that’s a feeling he’s going to have to get used to. Or get over completely. He’s not Jared anymore, he’s Jensen’s slave, and if Jensen wants to play dress-up like Jared’s a shambling six foot doll, then Jared will have to play along.

Jared studies his feet, the flimsy disposable slave slippers he’d been sold with, as Jensen pays for his purchases and then tugs Jared along to the underground parking garage where Aaron is waiting. Jensen settles him into the back of the SUV, where there’s a slave transport system that many of the newer luxury cars are including. Jared climbs into the small cage and then Jensen buckles and straps him in, _for your own safety,_ he tells Jared, before settling in next to Jared and buckling his own seat belt.

The drive back to his new master’s house takes a half hour, during which Jared becomes increasingly panicky. He can’t really tell where they’re going and he’s feeling carsick and frightened and he’s wondering what sort of master Jensen will be. He’s not even much older than Jared, and while he doesn’t seem overtly cruel, he certainly hasn’t done or said anything to make Jared feel _better_ about any of this. Jared’s athletic abilities had allowed him to hang out on the fringes of the wealthy, popular cliques at school, enough to know that kids who have everything don’t always play nice with their toys.

He supposes to someone like Jensen, it makes no difference that only a week ago Jared was swimming the anchor leg for a relay race against Cathedral that broke school records. That he had to leave behind everything he’s ever known to become Jensen’s plaything, including his family, his friends, his dogs.

He tries to keep as quiet as possible but Jensen hears one of his sniffles and says “It’s okay, Jared. I’m not going to hurt you, not if you’re a good boy for me. You want to be my good boy, don’t you?”

Jared hunches further into himself but he nods. Tears are running down his cheeks and his cuffed hands don’t even allow him to wipe his face.

“You’ll see, we’ll have lots of fun together. I’ve wanted my own slave for so long. If you’re good I’ll let you have some candy once in a while, and maybe we can get you a softer kneeling cushion. But you have to be a good boy.”

Jared bites his lip to stop from sobbing and tries to recapture that odd sensation of floating that he’d felt at the department store. He shuts down his brain again and lets the sensation carry him off on waves of...if not happiness, at least a strange sort of peace.

 

 

As soon as Jensen unbuckles his new slave from the transport hold, Jensen leads him through the house and up the stairs to his three-room suite. He has his own bedroom and bath, but he spends most of the time in the third room. It used to be his nursery, filled with toys and children’s books and colorful blocks, and now it’s where Jensen and his friends hang out to drink beer and watch movies and play video games.

“There’s the shower,” Jensen says, and his slave sneaks a look at him through the hair hanging over his eyes, but he doesn’t move.

“Go take a shower,” Jensen says, more slowly, wondering if Jared is mentally deficient somehow. But his slave follows the order quickly, and Jensen thinks back to his conversation with Chris, how the trainer told him that slaves respond best to direct commands and don’t like being presented with too many choices. With that in mind, Jensen follows Jared into the bathroom and points out which soap and shampoo he should use, places a clean towel next to the sink.

He sits down in the corner chair and slips out of his pants to play with his dick, thoughts racing with all the things he wants to try out with his new slave, things he’s waited _years_ to try. When Jared emerges 10 minutes later, towel slung low on his hips and water dripping down his back, Jensen smiles, slow and sure. He definitely made the right call today.

Jensen waves Jared over and instructs him to kneel between his legs. Jared does as he’s told, and though his eyes seem oddly blank, there’s no trace of the tears he was shedding when the car pulled into the large circular driveway.

“I have a pool out back, Jared,” Jensen says, running his fingers through Jared’s wet hair. “I know you like to swim, and if you’re good I’ll let you have some supervised pool time. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” Jared clears his throat. “Yes, master.”

“Good boy. I know we’re going to get along really well.” Jensen pulls off the rest of his clothes and guides Jared’s head between his legs. “Show me, Jared, show me what a good boy you are.”

It's obvious Jared's never done this before, but then, that's why they paid a premium for a virgin slave. Jensen cradles Jared's jaw between his hands, his hard cock enveloped in Jared's warm, wet mouth, lost in sensations more intense than any he's ever felt before because Jared is _his_ , all his. Only his.

"Show me what a good boy you are," Jensen murmurs again, resting his head against the back of the chair.

And Jared does.


End file.
